


Apologize for Your Guilt

by FudgingPastry



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Sgrub Session, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 11:23:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3976249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FudgingPastry/pseuds/FudgingPastry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You enter the ring to the sounds of cheers and applause. You lift your head proudly, your lance held tight in one hand and your horns tilted slightly forward in challenge. Amidst the cheers, you hear booing and insults thrown like spikes at you. They come from those who are against this brutal display of power and dominance against those who once oppressed you. The cheers skyrocket in volume and you barely hear the gate across from you clang open. You lower your horns, a growl rising out of your throat, and your lance comes down, pointed straight at the gate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apologize for Your Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request inspired by the song The Apology Song from Book of Life.

You enter the ring to the sounds of cheers and applause. You lift your head proudly, your lance held tight in one hand and your horns tilted slightly forward in challenge. Amidst the cheers, you hear booing and insults thrown like spikes at you. They come from those who are against this brutal display of power and dominance against those who once oppressed you. You ignore their protests; you were taken in when you were eight sweeps old and trained for fights like this. Your armor is strong and will take the blows of the highblood you’ll face with barely a dent or a scratch. They should be happy that you’re only allowed the lance to use as a weapon. The fights the psionics participate in typically end with the arena charred and smoking, their opponent barely recognizable.

The cheers skyrocket in volume and you barely hear the gate across from you clang open. You lower your horns, a growl rising out of your throat, and your lance comes down, pointed straight at the gate. You barely have time to react as the highblood lunges from the darkness beyond the gate. You catch them with your lance and it gashes deep in their side. You hear a gasp of pain and cold blood splashes on your face. You jump back and wipe your free hand over your cheek. Purple. You know it’s not a seadweller because the arena would have water somewhere in it.

The highblood swings at you again and you have to duck before the club collides with your face. You block with your lance just as another club swings up at you. The highblood presses their weight into you and you growl back in their face. Small, deformed ear fins flare at you as you get a good look at their face and you freeze. Their horns slam into yours as they knock you off your feet. The audience is roaring now, half telling you to get off your ass and half telling them to spill your blood. You stare up at the highblood, absolute disbelief on your face as Gamzee slams their club into the sand next to your head.

They pant, glaring down at you through red eyes and you are terrified and you can barely stand. You can’t fight them. You can’t. You met them when you were younger and they laughed and they rapped with you and you sat down and waited with them when their lusus wouldn’t come hive. They grab the front of your armor and fling you across the arena. Your back hits the wall and pain shoots through you as you remember that the sweep before you started training, they disappeared. They disappeared completely. When you asked Aradia about it, she shook her head and told you that she didn’t know what happened to them. You stand to your feet and you can see the scars over their body. You roll away from their clubs and catch a glimpse of their back. Scars and healed gashes and fresh gashes cover their back like clothing and you know those scars well. Those same scars litter your back, your punishment when you wouldn’t kill something.

You can’t fight them. You can’t. Even when their club slams into your thorax and you feel a rib crack. You lean on your lance and you can’t hardly hear the roar of the crowd. Brown blood drips from your body and you cough. The blood splatters the sand along with their purple blood. You had always wondered what happened to them. For the longest time, you tried to find them. Even when you were taken in for training, you tried so hard to find them again. Even when the first gash opened on your back from the whip, you tried _so hard._ And now they stalk up to you, their eyes no longer seeing you for who you are, who they knew you as and you are terrified. Two hundred sweeps this sport had been going on and for the first time, you are terrified. You don’t want to die, but one of you will. Probably both of you because the highblood never survives. The highblood is bred to die just as you are bred to fight. They grab your armor again and lift you up high. Pain is a constant reminder to you now and you wonder how many more strikes it will take til you breathe your last. You cough blood onto their arm and they don’t even flinch. Guilt fills your heart. Guilt for all those you killed. Guilt for never finding him. Guilt for your failure and when you speak, your voice is small and it shakes with your terror and guilt.

“I’m, sorry Gam… zee. I promise I, tried. I’m so, sorry.” They blink when you say their name and you are surprised to hear silence from the crowd. You grip your hand around your lance, only to realize it fell out of your grip. Out of the corner of your eyes, you can see the guards moving, coming towards the arena. You lift your hand and press it against their cheek, your thumb smudging the paint there.

“Tav… bro?” Their voice comes out frightened and small, just like when they’d call for their dad as he swam back into the sea. You smile, or you try to. It’s getting harder and harder to move or breathe. Your hand trembles against their cheek and their arm is shaking. Tears are filling their eyes and you can hear the crowd shouting. They’re all angry now. They came here to watch blood spill, not the tears running down Gamzee’s cheeks.

You are dropped to the ground as the guards grab Gamzee’s arms and pull them back. They shout and snap, throwing most of them off as the highblood tries to get back to you. You hear their voice scream out your name and you just smile at them, unconsciousness pulling you into a cool darkness.

“Please forgive, me, Gamzee. Please forgive…”

The last thing you hear is their scream cut short.


End file.
